Vengeance
by Solid Gold Buddhist Raccoon
Summary: Alex has grown up into a handsome, if not knowledgeable authority on the history of Ancient Egypt. And while his life is proceeding smoothly, he has no idea that the evils of Egpyt are plotting sweet revenge.


**Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Mummy and the Mummy Returns, and maybe even had the money to hire Brendan Fraser to star in the Mummy and the Last Crusade. But I don't. So there, are all you lawyers out there happy? No wait, you can't be. You don't get to beat a person like me who enjoys writing fan fiction to a pulp in front of a jury. So anyway. Let us see what I _do own. I guess I own the basic storyline (copyright 2002), excluding the actual characters. Oh, and by the way, while I'm at it, I might mention to all you other people on fanfiction.net that I rarely ever read Mummy fan fiction; in fact, I rarely ever read fan fiction at all. So, therefore, if any of you people out there accuse me of stealing your storyline, well, I didn't. In fact, I didn't know it even existed. Any relations between my storyline and yours are purely coincidental. All right, now, we're ready to begin…_**

~`*`~

**Vengeance**

**Chapter 1: The Discovery**

Written by the _Solid Gold Buddhist Raccoon_

Tuesday, December 31, 2002 A.D. using the 365-day calendar

~`*`~

            Alexander O'Connell whistled to himself softly as he made his way through the British Museum's corridors. He didn't need to gaze at the mummies or papyrus scrolls he walked past as he had memorized them by heart. In fact, he could recite the order of displayed items from memory, and could even tell you all there was to know about each one. Alex had spent much of his time in this museum since his childhood; it had become like home.

Most of the new objects, now placed under glass enclosures, were pre-examined by him for display. Alex prided himself in his work. His understanding and great knowledge of the world of Ancient Egypt had come from his parents. Evelyn and Rick O'Connell were as unusual a pair as they came, but the loving bond they shared was hardly chipped or scratched through the years, and the love for their son had produced the youngest but finest expert on the history of Ancient Egypt the world had seen. 

            Alex had been maturing and molding into a handsome fellow through the years. Now twenty-five, his hair had become not the yellow fluff that they had seen fifteen years earlier; it was replaced with more of a very light brown with faint, disappearing streaks of gold. The cowboy costumed he played in years earlier had long since been traded for a loose, white-collared shirt with cuffs stretched over his then wrist and brown, dressy pants. He had also replaced the baby fat (as his Uncle Johnny called it) with a tall, thin, but strong build. He wasn't athletic. He looked very scholarly. But everyone, including his parents, could see the twinkle of the love for excitement in his green eyes. They had noticed—though Alex believed he was covering it well—the love for adventure in his eyes and the desire to strike out on his own and build an empire.

            Alex traced the familiar steps down the halls and spotted the 'faculty only' doorway. It was usually locked, but Alex had a key; a key of his own. His first job in the museum was treating him well, apparently. 

            The tapping of his shoes on the marble floor came to a halt when he shoved the key in the knob and turned the door open in a single, flowing movement. 

~`*`~

Evy reached for the book. It fell to the floor as soon as she laid her fingers on it. She stared in astonishment at the fact that her hands were shaky—so violent were the tremors that she couldn't hold even a piece of paper without tearing it to pieces, wrinkling, or dropping it. She gasped and knelt to retrieve _Herodotus: History._

            She wiped the curls of black hair from her face and turned around to the familiar noise.

            "Rick!"

            He smiled. Evy cherished his smile. It made her feel stronger when she was weak and confused. 

            "Hello…"—he arched an eyebrow—"It looks like you can use a hand." His voice was soft, dark, and rich with humor. He quickly strode over.

            "No, I'm fine," Evy scoffed.

            "No you aren't. Here—" He caught _History as it tumbled once again out of her trembling hands. "What's the matter here?"_

            Evy sighed.

            "Oh, it's just Alex. I'm surprised you haven't noticed the time"—she didn't feel like giving him an annoyed glare—"But he's way past his working hours—almost an hour and a half, by now."

            "Oh." Rick's puzzlement change to a nod of understanding. "Well, it does take him a while to get back. Remember, he has to walk the way back. And besides," he added, smiling, "he told us that he'd be working overtime today. Remember?"

            Evy stared. She had forgotten about that. The museum had received a bunch of artifacts from Egypt and they were eager to get the project under way. Alex knew that it would take about a year minimum to analyze, decipher, catalogue, record, and display the artifacts. However, he, too, was almost as enthusiastic as the museum itself and had agreed to stay after the museum closed (they told him to lock up when he left) to start on it. He didn't even ask for extra pay, though Evy knew that he was hoping for a good sum more than the measly amount he was earning for his hard efforts. 

            Sighing, Evy nodded in agreement and fastened her grip on _History, determined to open it without it escaping her hands. _

            Just wait.

            When Alex comes home and flops into bed, she will be cursing herself for worrying so. 

            Yet she couldn't help but to worry… 

~`*`~

            He resembled much of his father. He had the same serious look when things needed to be done, that same air of superiority when dealing with the lesser people. He had much of his mother, as well. He had her eyes, as many have told him. He also had her grace, unlike his father who had the grace of a stampeding rhino.

Staring intently at the scene before him, he saw crowds of people causing much commotion. The mobs shouted, cargo being unloaded and loaded into other ships. Salt and sea filled his nostrils. Lamplights planted firmly along the streets reflected off his bronze skin. England was a new and unusual place. Their tongue never ceased to amuse him, the sharp angles and petty sounds it made. Their means of transportation—automobiles, or cars, as they called it, were noisy and pushed dust into the air. The dust made him cough and sputter. Their buildings were ugly and grey. Worst of all, their manners towards him seemed to treat him nothing more than a filthy commoner. 

Of course they didn't know who he was. At least, who he _really was. If he had been adorned in the usual amulets of gold and precious stones, or maybe even a simple kalasiris to remind him of his homeland, he doubted they would have continued to treat him as they already were. Undoubtedly, they would be terrified, and avoid his intent, snake-like gaze. He enjoyed that: the fear that others showed before his presence, the control he had whenever he entered a room or house. He remembered listening to the peasants' screams that echoed from the dungeons time and time again._

He couldn't enjoy that fun any longer over here, however. His servants had placed him in a burnoose, the draped costume that not only covered him from head to toe in the flowing white cloth normally worn in the Middle East, but lowered, in his mind, to the rank of a filthy peasant. Telling himself that he and his servants didn't know what to expect of this foreign land, he returned his gaze towards examining the scene before him. Torturing their worth might be enjoyable payback. That was for later, though.

            He frowned. He hoped he wouldn't stand out too much in the crowd, but then again, what did he care? He could have them bowing at his feet by the time the hour passed. 

            "My Lord."

            Too preoccupied with his thoughts, he continued to stare ahead. He heard a door open, and turned to see his automobile waiting. It was black, a Ford. His servant held the door open. Imhotep II smiled. Loyal servants certainly were useful.

~`*`~

            Alex whistled, locking the back exit to the museum. Brushing away a lock of hair, he twirled around and proceeded down the steps. He absentmindedly flipped a coin and slapped it on his palm, then rubbed it along the back of his hand. It vanished. Alex grinned proudly to himself. He was clever; Uncle Johnny never failed to laugh whole-heartedly when he pulled endless amounts of coins out of his ears.

            The night was chilly, the sky brown from the great many electric lights in town. Alex saw vapor float past his cheek as he continued to walk. 

            He was grateful to finally be away from the museum. As much as he loved his science, always being about to devote hours to preparing a newfound papyrus scroll for display or decode the ancient hieroglyphs, going home was always a relief. 

            Always. 

            Though the museum had become sort of a second home, there was nothing like enjoying the company of others that loved you as family. He smiled and saw his parents and his uncle gambling around the dinner table when he would get home. He saw Bastet, the aging feline that he had taken care of for about a decade ever since she was a small kitten. The cat made him feel at home when his parents were busy smooching on the balcony. Alex could not help but to laugh aloud, remembering his father's expression when he first introduced to them the abandoned animal. It had been a stormy Friday night. 

            "What's this?" Rick suspiciously inquired upon seeing the bulge under his son's raincoat. Evy fumed when she saw puddles of water leak from his jacket and pool on the floor. 

            "Mum…dad…" Alex always started off like that when he was nervous. Especially when he knew he was about to get into trouble. The bulge started to shift, slightly. It seemed to finally awaken, and when it noticed that it was trapped inside such a dark and wet place, its hind legs pushed forward, savagely trying to escape.

            It meowed several times. 

            Alex wasn't sure how his parents would react, but they had surprisingly taken it well. They gave everything the cat meowed for—food, a small bed, milk, tummy rubs, scratches behind the ear, and an occasional threat when she sunk her claws in the couch or sharpened them against the antique stool. They even said that Bastet could come in handy, sometime in the future. Alex didn't know what they meant by that, and was, at the time, too disinterested to think about it. 

            He tripped over a protruding brick on the sidewalk but regained his balance. 

            His whistling, however, never missed a beat, and _Silent Night floated like a plague in the crisp air. The street, having its usual quiet, ghastly sight at one in the morning, put Alex's tensions at rest for the day. He turned and headed for the mansion, it being large and towering still though he lived in it for almost all of his lifetime. _

            The front of the mansion was where the large Oak door with the rusty knocker on the top where he could barely reach was. Through the large window next to it, he saw his mother amble down a corridor, not noticing Bastet nestling  peacefully on the armchair. 

            It was then that a screech of a car was audible, breaking the silence. The lights blinded Alex's eyes for a moment before coming to a halt beyond the mansion gates. It was a black ford. 


End file.
